


Strut (Show Me What You're Working With)

by momebie (katilara)



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-25
Updated: 2011-06-25
Packaged: 2017-10-20 17:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,751
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katilara/pseuds/momebie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there is smut. And black silk stockings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strut (Show Me What You're Working With)

Eames can hear the music in the hallway. He pauses to listen for a moment, his fist hovering an inch from the door. He hopes to hear Arthur singing. Partially because he loves Arthur's voice, and partially because he likes to catch Arthur off guard. There's nothing but the faint picking of a fiddle and some plaintive guitar though, so he knocks.

When Arthur opens the door he's wet, and there's a towel slung low over his hips. The music swells and washes over Eames, the singer's voice sounding hollow, as if it's coming off an old 45 and not from the state of the art sound system the expensive hotel room is equipped with. The combined effect leaves Eames nearly speechless for a second. He recovers quickly, with a smirk, refusing to act like a school boy on his first date.

“Hey,” Arthur says, stepping back so Eames can move around him.

“Arthur, good to see you didn't go out of your way on my account.” Eames runs a finger across the dip in Arthur's hip as he goes by . He slips out of his jacket as soon as the door is closed behind him.

“You know how I hate to be overdressed,” Arthur says, and gives him a half smile over his shoulder. It's all Eames can do not to laugh, because being overdressed is a sadistic pleasure of Arthur's. It puts him in an unspoken position of power and often makes other people nervous.

Arthur disappears into the bathroom, leaving Eames to take in the room. The wallpaper is a deep red, and all of the furniture is a dark wood, which makes the room feel cramped in spite of it being larger than the whole of Eames' apartment.

He drops his jacket onto a chair near the window and sits down on the foot of the bed. The man on the sound system is telling him that death is full and man is small and Eames closes his eyes for a moment, relishing in the feel of the soft, high count cotton under his fingertips. The song fades out into silence and Eames is left with the soft sounds of Arthur tinkering around in the bathroom.

“We should spend more of our time together like this,” he calls. “You in the other room, me bored out of my mind!”

“Tsk tsk,” Arthur says. “Patience.” When Eames opens his eyes Arthur is standing thirty feet from him, hands on his hips, legs spread wide. Arthur's hair is tousled and damp. He's shirtless and wearing a pair of black women's underwear. The attached garter clips are pulled taught and holding up sheer black thigh high silk stockings with lace embellishments at the top. On his feet are a pair of black, high heeled shoes. Eames swallows, hard.

“Arthur,” Eames says. It's barely a breath as it sneaks past his lips.

“Yes?” Arthur cocks his head to the left and raises an eyebrow, daring Eames to act as if any part of this was out of the ordinary.

Eames takes a moment to collect himself, accepting the challenge. “Arthur, come here.”

Arthur straightens his posture, lifts his chin, and walks slowly to the bed. Eames thinks he must be moving carefully, so that he doesn't lose his balance, but the way Arthur's hips are swaying as he moves makes Eames forget entirely how silly the whole scene could be.

When Arthur stops he's just out of Eames' reach. Eames leans forward and cups his hands around Arthur's ass, pulling him forward gently. The underwear is satin and slick beneath his fingertips. His breath hitches as Arthur's knee knocks into his. He thinks about what it feels like to be the one wearing all of it. How even when he's playing at being a woman it feels a little like sex you can wear; constricting and warm and pleasant. He opens up his legs slightly and Arthur steps between them, resting his hands on Eames' thighs and leaning forward. “Yes?” Arthur says again.

Eames runs his hands slowly up and down Arthur's back, digging in lightly with the heels of his hands and working the muscles there. Arthur arches up into the touch and leans in closer, bumping their noses together. Eames leans in for a kiss, but Arthur pulls away just enough so their lips don't touch. Eames dips the tips of his fingers into Arthur's underwear and Arthur moves forward.

He pulls himself onto the bed, standing on his knees and straddling Eames. Arthur runs his fingers through Eames' hair and tilts Eames' head back. Eames rests his chin on Arthur's bare chest and sighs. He's running his fingers lightly down Arthur's thighs when Arthur finally leans in and kisses him. It's been months since they've seen each other this way and it's all Eames can do not to flip Arthur over and pin him to the mattress, but Arthur looks like he has a plan and Eames has long ago learned not to get in the way of Arthur's plans.

When Arthur pulls away Eames licks his lips and smirks up at him. “To what do I owe this...unique pleasure?”

Arthur gently knocks his forehead into Eames' and stays there, his eyes slightly unfocused and trained on Eames' mouth. “I seem to remember you talking at some length about how nothing compared to the feeling of silk stockings on supple legs. I decided to try it out.”

Eames breaks into a grin that threatens to split his face in two and nips at one of Arthur's nipples with his teeth. “You are too good for me.”

“I know,” Arthur says. He straightens his back and leans in close. Using Eames' arm for balance he lifts his right leg and drapes it over Eames' shoulder, crowding Eames back.

Eames turns his head and buries his nose into the inside of Arthur's thigh. The stocking material is smooth and warm against his cheek. He reaches up and rests his hand on top of Arthur's thigh, holding it in place, and then nuzzles his way down to where the plastic clip of the garter is holding the top of the stockings in place. There's a patch of skin there that Eames just has to lick. He follows the line of the support up Arthur's thigh until he's kissing the soft, sensitive skin just outside of the line of the underwear. Short, dark hair is curling around the edges and Eames tugs on it lightly with his lips. Eames feels Arthur shudder around him.

Arthur is hard and straining against the black satin, precome dampening the fabric. Eames wants so bad it hurts, but he doesn't want to undress Arthur just yet. He nuzzles against Arthur's cock inside of the underwear, mouths it lightly. The muscles in Arthur's leg tighten and grip Eames's shoulder. The heel of the shoe digs into Eames' back and he arches forward. Eames looks up and licks across Arthur's stomach, watching for Arthur's reaction, but Arthur doesn't give him one. He's looking down at Eames in the same way he studies labyrinth lay outs, with curiosity and interest. The lack of response is maddening. It becomes a challenge. It's exactly the kind of challenge Eames loves.

Eames reaches up with his free hand and rests it on Arthur's back as he cradles Arthur's thigh with the other. He twists them sideways and falls back onto the bed. They crash down gracelessly. The heel is now wedged between Eames' side and the mattress and Eames thinks it might have drawn blood, but he doesn't care. He disentangles himself and crawls up and over Arthur, pushing and prodding him until he's lying on his back and smirking up at Eames.

Arthur's hair looks utterly ridiculous. There's no gel in it, so it's dried every which way. His cheeks are tinged red and his skin is glaringly white against the black of the satin and the gold of the comforter. He's truly, startlingly beautiful, which Eames will never admit out loud. Instead Eames leans back on his heels and pulls the shoes off of Arthur's feet, tossing them onto the floor at the foot of the bed. “Those are deadly weapons. I'm surprised we let women just walk around in them.”

“By that standard it's a wonder they let you leave your apartment at all.” Arthur crosses his ankles behind Eames back and tries to pull him forward.

Eames ducks out of Arthur's grasp and off the bed. While Arthur watches he unbuttons his shirt and shucks it off. He slips out of his undershirt and steps out of his shoes. He wriggles free from his socks and his trousers and his boxers, throwing everything down haphazardly onto the floor in a hurry. It's strange, because Arthur is the one dressed up, but Eames is the one who feels like he's on show.

He's naked as he crawls back up the bed. Arthur sits up and wraps his arms around Eames' shoulders, kissing him on the lips and then leaning in and licking a line from Eames' jaw down to his collar bone. Eames tries to concentrate on the garter clasps and manages to get one pair of them free. He pulls the stocking down, taking his time and running his hands over every inch of newly revealed skin. He moves back so he can pull the stocking off completely and Arthur makes a discontented grunt in the back of his throat.

“Tsk tsk, patience,” Eames says, his tone mocking. He drapes the stocking around Arthur's neck like a scarf and pushes him back onto the pillows. Arthur rests with his hands under his head as Eames easily undoes the other set of clips and pulls the underwear down and off, leaving Arthur stretched out across the comforter in one black stocking.

Eames runs his hand from the stockinged calf up to Arthur's thigh and leans over him. He licks up the shaft of Arthur's cock and watches Arthur's expression change as his mouth drops open. It's all the invitation Eames needs. He takes Arthur's cock into his mouth and closes his eyes. Arthur moans.

As much as Eames appreciates how Arthur looks, it's really the noises Arthur makes that are his favorite part of their encounters. Arthur, in Eames' opinion, is a pinned-up dyed-in-the-wool stick-in-the-mud. But when you get him on his back, laid out and wanting, he becomes someone else entirely. It's their little secret.

Arthur is wriggling as Eames sucks him off. He wraps his legs around Eames' shoulders, his moans becoming a short, shuddering staccato as Eames teases his balls and presses a finger up into him. Eames is working on getting a second finger in when he finds that spot inside of Arthur that causes him to unravel completely. Arthur stutters, tripping over his own tongue, and let's out a cry as he comes. Eames swallows and pulls his fingers out of Arthur, wiping them on the remaining stocking where it's starting to sag on Arthur's thigh.

“Such a pity, to soil something so beautiful,” he says. He kisses his way up Arthur's stomach and chest before settling on top of him.

Arthur locks his ankles around Eames' lower back and runs his fingers idly up and down Eames' arms. “That's never stopped you before.” he says.

“Of course it hasn't,” Eames says. “Some things are meant to be spoiled. Doesn't make it any less of a damn shame.”

“You know what shame is?”

“Oh, you're bloody funny you are,” Eames says.

“That is what people say about me. Good old Arthur, he's a barrel full of—”

Eames kisses Arthur, cutting him off. They relish in it for a bit, Arthur dragging his teeth lightly over Eames' bottom lip and Eames letting his tongue glide past Arthur's. Arthur lets his feet settle to the bed, his thighs still cradling Eames' hips. Eames can feel that Arthur is getting hard again. He pulls away from the kiss. “How do you feel about getting a little extra use from your accessories?”

Arthur pulls the first stocking from around his shoulders. Eames sits up and slips the other one off Arthur's leg as Arthur rolls over onto his stomach. He clamors up the bed until he's gripping the headboard, knees spread wide beneath him. Eames leans over him and uses a stocking for each of his wrists as he ties them to the posts. He runs his hands lightly down Arthur's back and thighs, just to have the extra touch. Eames leans over to where Arthur has left a handful of condoms on the bedside table and unwraps one of them, sliding it on. He takes his time applying the lube and Arthur grows impatient. He hums lightly until Eames inserts one lubed finger into him, which causes him to gasp and rock forward.

“I know, it's cold,” Eames says quietly. He goes back to stretching Arthur. When Arthur's leaning back greedily onto his fingers Eames pulls them away and presses in with his cock.

Eames grips Arthur's hips and Arthur drops his head and grunts. He stretches, trying in vain to bury his head in a pillow. He grips at the slick cloth on the headboard so tight that his fingers turn red and then white with the strain. Eames lets Arthur get comfortable, waits for him to start pushing back before beginning to move.

He starts slow, trying to build a rhythm, which isn't easy against Arthur's rutting. Arthur throws his head back and moans loudly and Eames leans forward and bites his shoulder in response. Eames braces himself against the headboard, his hands on either side of Arthur's, and pushes harder and faster. Arthur gasps and writhes. Eames can feel himself getting close.

“Please,” Arthur gasps. “Just fucking touch me.” He's straining down, trying to get any friction he can from the comforter, but the way he's spread out doesn't leave him much leverage. Eames chuckles into Arthur's ear and backs off. He reaches around and grasps the shaft of Arthur's cock, starts to work it in time with his thrusts. Arthur is moaning loudly now and Eames can't keep himself from grunting with each new thrust. The headboard, though padded, is hitting the wall in its own off beat rhythm. Eames is sure they're going to get chucked out for disturbing the other guests, but he can't bring himself to care at the moment. There's a heat coiling in the base of his abdomen. His stomach muscles tighten.

When Eames comes he groans something incoherent and loses his rhythm. Arthur grunts, frustrated, and thrusts into Eames' hand at a quickening pace. “Ah, ah,” Eames says, because he's feeling too sensitive now as he crashes back down and Arthur is tightening around him in a way that's unbearable. Arthur moans and Eames feels him tense up beneath him. He comes over Eames' hand and the comforter beneath them.

Eames leaves Arthur panting against the headboard when he pulls out of him and goes to dispose of the condom in the bathroom wastebasket. When he comes back Arthur is slumped forward, his head resting on the padding, his back sagging forward.

“I have half a mind to leave you there,” Eames says.

“I have half a mind to shoot you in your sleep some nights, but I don't.”

“You are a far better person than I am, I'm afraid,” Eames says. He takes his time locating his boxers and pulling them on before finally untying Arthur's hands. Eames rubs his thumb over the inside of each of Arthur's wrists as he removes the stockings, brushing away invisible marks.

Arthur drops onto the bed and sighs. “Not really, I imagine we have the same motive.”

“Why thank you, Arthur, I didn't think you'd ever admit what a fantastic fuck I was.”

Arthur closes his eyes, trying to set his mouth in a grim, straight line. It was as much of a compliment as it was a boast though, so he doesn't have anything to be angry about. “That mouth of yours is going to be your undoing.”

“And don't we both know it,” Eames says. He lays out on his stomach next to Arthur and rests his cheek on his overlapped hands. “Until then, though, I'll just have to be content with it being your undoing.”

Arthur summons the last of his energy and punches Eames in the shoulder. Eames can't keep himself from finally laughing.


End file.
